


lay down your burdens (let us dream of better days)

by saaifione



Category: Kingdom Hearts
Genre: Be Careful What You Wish For (also be careful not to get possessed by the resident evil guy), Hurt No Comfort (of the delayed kind), POV Second Person, between games, canon can fix everything i break
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-13
Updated: 2014-03-13
Packaged: 2018-01-15 13:57:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,607
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1307332
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/saaifione/pseuds/saaifione
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>they'll carve you out all over again, if you don't do it to yourself</p>
<p>(in which Saix regains his heart, and it is not at all what he wanted it to be)</p>
            </blockquote>





	lay down your burdens (let us dream of better days)

You wake up with your cheek pressed against the floor and a knee grinding into your spine. You try to raise your head but it is pinioned by the weight of a heavy hand, fingers twisting the roots of your hair and digging into your skull. Everything is bleached white and burning, due to pain or sensation or maybe you've just been blinded.

" _Be still_ ," commands a voice, and it resonates all the way down to your bones. Your first instinct is to refuse and your second is to obey, but when you try to do both you bite through your tongue and end up choking.

"Oi, oi, is he going to be alright?" a second voice jeers. "Didn't cobble him back together just to have him break, did we?"

Black boots appear at the edge of your vision and a snarl twists at your lips. You lunge, biting out a name, a curse, but your head is shoved down with an almost careless gesture.

_Run_ says one set of instincts and _fight_ says another. You scrabble for purchase but one arm is thrown awkwardly out to the side and the other is pinned beneath you. Your back arches as you try to summon a corridor or your claymore but your thoughts are too disjointed, just one solid thought rattling around like a jostled gear, _where? where? where-?_

"No," says the first voice, and your breath shrivels in your throat, congealing into blood. "No. With a little work, this one should still be salvageable."

_Where is-?_

 

* * *

 

The computer hums in front of you and you count down the seconds until Axel returns. Your hand thrums against the keyboard unconsciously and you _(feel impatient, anxious, concerned)_ stop them, frowning. It's a habit your body hasn't completely forgotten; you find it is harder to repress the habits than to remember the emotions that go with them, not worth the headaches you get when you try.

Axel's form shimmers and pixilates into being before you and you sigh _(irritated relieved)_ too loudly, the way that always makes Axel complain that you're trying too hard.

Before you can ask for a report Axel is already clutching at your arm _(shock surprise it's been a while since he's touched you)_ , asking, _can you get me back inside? I almost got him, I would have gotten him, bandaged creep kicked me out,_ words tumbling off his tongue too quickly for you to catch all the emotions he's trying to imitate.

_(See, see, Isa, that's you're problem, you're lacking in imagination. That's why you're always so horrible at lying. If you want them to believe the story, you have to believe it first.)_

You frown with an emotion _(envy agitation paranoia loss)_ you do not have, hand sweeping up to rub at your scar.

_I told you it would only work for a moment,_ you say, and there is the _(regret)_ absence of his hand as he lets go of your arm, retreating.

_It'll require more time to completely break into the system._ A day, at least; the two of you should be able to afford that much. Failure is not an option but you feel _(helpless anxious angry)_ as if Axel's reason for thinking so is entirely different from your own (but somehow not different at all).

(It is it is it is it is)

Just a simple thought, it's not even an emotion so it's something you can have-

_I don't want to lose you_

(But you know how this will end.)

 

* * *

 

"Hey, hey, you back in the- _ha_ \- present with us?" someone jeers. The second voice. The voice you hatehate _hate_ -

A hand cuffs you across the face, rattling your thoughts off their axis _(hey, hey, let's climb onto the castle roof, let's go and catch the stars)._

"Do not antagonize him," comes the first voice, deep enough to be a threat but too flat to properly hold annoyance. It's a voice that tastes of dust, of dusks, a voice that means someone is about to disappear- a memory, a feeling- if you were more coherent you might think that it'd be you. But your vision is red-white-pain and shadows, your chest and your head feel like they're on fire (maybe this time he'll burn you both alive).

"Don't think I've ever seen someone handle getting their heart back so badly," the second voice whistles, but the rest of his words are lost over the static crackling in your head, white snow on white banks, there was hardly ever any snow in the gardens.

You hear -

"- too long -"

"- suppressed -"

"- easier when -"

"- bud of a heart -"

\- thoughts which might be voices, chasing through your head.

"-use up all the emotions berserking?" You only catch the end of that statement and you twist as if to catch the rest, but there are hands holding you down, on your shoulders on your arms on the curve of your back, just above your heart. They will bury you here, without a body or a gravestone, without anyone left to mourn.

"If it is necessary to do so again," says the first voice, and though it is flat there is a smile stitched into its timbre.

"It would have been simpler if he'd merely survived long enough to have never regained his heart."

 

* * *

 

You stand in the middle of a corridor made of shadows, trying to determine which way to go. Lea, you think, where would Lea go, but the memory is a bright and useless thing, because Axel is not Lea and Lea cannot help you now.

Xemnas is _(cruel)_  not terribly creative, in his assignments of which Organization member should hunt down the others, as if you would be able to hunt Axel better because you knew him better than the rest. Nobodies are creatures of habit, Xemnas holds, but if that were true _(and you doubt you doubt)_ Axel never would have left.

But it is useless to dwell on such things; dangerous to dwell in the corridors because even with a coat and Dusks to scout the way it is possible to get lost, to wander too deeply into the darkness.

The halls are made of memories, the walls of burnt out stars. The shadows smile and whisper, _hey, do you still trust me?_

They whisper, _hey, do you still-?_

 

* * *

 

"Whoops-a-daisy!"

Your fist makes contact with something solid and for a moment the weight upon you shifts. It's not much but you throw your entire body into bucking, and for an instant you are free _(you go for the window and i'll go for the stairs)_ flipping back and away _(they can't catch us both)_ before collapsing upon yourself to clutch at your chest _(they can try)_.

It hurts it hurts it hurts it hurts, there's a wound in your chest that's bleeding and you want to rip it out.

Before you can gain your bearings there's a weight driving into your side, breath knocked out of your lungs as your body is knocked to the floor. You try to claw off your attacker but end up tearing at your sleeves instead.

" _Ha_ , to think this is how'd you react, after all that effort you spent trying to get it back." The voice is a rasp, laughing darkly in your ear. It grunts when you manage to land a hit, fingers digging deeper into your ribs.

"Emotions really do bring out the worst in you."

 

* * *

 

You had thought that the worst thing about being heartless was the _(frustration loss regret)_ horrible sense of déjà-vu, like having a word on the tip of your tongue, like looking at him and thinking _I should feel-_ while you couldn't.

But this just might be worse.

Number VIII is dead, the Dusk tells you, a wisping wraith of a thing, the lowest of your kind. (You could crush it with a thought.)

The news is not surprising. It is not undesired. It is a perfectly logical conclusion to the roles that both of you have played.

But maybe you had never expected Axel to kill himself for somebody, for Number XIII's Somebody, _(weren't you going to live forever? maybe forever's gone and passed)_ , maybe you at least expected to be the one to kill him yourself. (But it is not as if either of you owed the other that.)

You _(feel) (feel) (feel)_ snap your fingers, commanding the Dusk to disappear.

_(there is not a word for the emotion you feel)_

 

* * *

 

You hear the crack of your wrist breaking before you fully register the pain. You cry out but there is a gloved hand muffling your mouth, making it difficult to breathe.

"You are being," says the first voice evenly, "unreasonable. We are simply taking precautions to make sure you do not damage yourself irreparably."

But you are not listening, you are not here, you are mouthing over and over into the hand- _yes, yes, yes, I still-_

"Ha-" the second voice laughs, amusement coloring disbelief, "I think we made him cry."

 

* * *

 

The boy has Roxas' eyes _(rage)_ and Roxas' smile _(rage)_ and he shouts he is not Roxas _(rage)_ , like none of it has mattered _(rageRaGeRAGE)_. Like he has not destroyed all of your carefully laid plans, like he has not shaken your very foundations. Like he has any right to blame you _(guiltdenialregretRAGERAGERAGERAGE)_. Like Axel is not dead and the last thought before you die won't be of him.

_(heartless like him traitor like him, a part of you wanted your heart back just so you could hate him-)_

_(-you hate him hate him hate him-)_

_(you don't know who you're thinking about, anymore)_

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted on [my tumblr](http://saaifione.tumblr.com/post/79439935337/i-have-fairly-much-convinced-myself-that-any) (with mini-meta).
> 
> I have a tumblr now! I think it's become a tradition for me to get a new posting medium with every new fandom, in which to ferret away muses.


End file.
